


Not Your Grandpa's Apocalypse

by MoesHardnessScale (Talc)



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: Crowley (Good Omens) Is Not Crowley (Supernatural), Excessive Drinking, GND/Roommates references, Heavy Drinking, M/M, Other, bible inaccuracy, every is different, four horsepersons, weird bible references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:19:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5241332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talc/pseuds/MoesHardnessScale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Honestly this was supposed to be our vacation, how could you?"</p><p>It's not Crowley's fault truly, actually, truthfully this time. Not lying. This is all the Americans. Stop giving him that look, he's trying here!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Your Grandpa's Apocalypse

**Author's Note:**

> So mostly this started off as a whole big Roommates reference, but if you haven't read that comic you wouldn't get it. It's the vacation joke. So then I really like Supernatural Good Omens crossovers, but the thing I always can't get around is why the horsepersons are different, 'cause no one really tries to explain it. So I wrote this to explain it. And make that joke. But now I think I'll have to write more, if only for the sake of making more stupid jokes. 
> 
> I stopped watching Supernatural around Season 8 so I have no idea what has happened around and after that, but this is just focusing on the Apocalypse part, so whatever. Honestly I give zero shits about the amount of accuracy this fic has.

They don't quite know what to do when things start going pear shaped. One moment the two are arguing over drinks, and then all of a sudden people were rushing to shove food in their mouths, rabidly grabbing for what they could. Evidently something was up.

 

Aziraphale gave Crowley a look that could only be called disappointed. "Crowley, how could you? And on our vacation?"

 

"Hey, don't look at me, angel," Crowley says, looking over his glasses at his compatriot, "I had nothing to do with this!"

 

What is an angel and a fallen angel supposed to do in this situation? Shall they follow the humans and give into desires so as not to be spotted, or shall they simply leave? No no, Aziraphale could never do that, it'd be immoral. Oh, then there was the other issue, who was causing this?

 

"This isn't even my style! Give me some credit!"

 

Then they noticed the group of men and women in suits, carting around an old man who seemed as unaffected as them.

 

"See, not me!" Crowley exclaims.

 

A head snaps their way. Crowley goes rigid. "We uh...Should probably leave though."

 

"Crowley no we can- Oh." They both stand up slowly, locking eyes with the half a dozen demons surrounding them.

 

"An angel." A voice says. "Aaaand a demon." The man in the wheelchair rolls forward. One of the demons hisses.

 

"That is not a demon." The lesser demon points out.

 

"No, no I suppose not. Not one of you, that is for sure."

 

Crowley and Aziraphale step outside of the booth, making the demons all flinch as if to step forward, and attack.

 

"Hold it." The man says. They keep still, though they twitch as if they have something they need to do.

 

The humans around them are already falling dead. Aziraphale attempts to miracle them back to their senses, but to no avail. There is simply no miracle in stopping pure sin.

 

"What are you?" The angel asks. The man doesn't say anything. Crowley shrinks.

 

"We aren't looking for any games, fellas. Just step aside." He says coolly.

 

"Do what he says. These two are no threat to us." The man in the chair waves his demon guards away.

 

Crowley scoffs. Rude.

 

"So, what are you two doing in this mess? I thought you were incognito."

 

Aziraphale's eyes are busy being set on the dying humans among them. Human lives being thrown away. Being choked and bled to death. And there's nothing he can do.

 

Crowley takes hold of his shoulder, holding him as if to stop him from doing anything stupid.

 

"How do you know who we are?" He asks, peeking out from over the rims of his sunglasses. The yellow of his eyes sends shivers up the spine of very lesser demon in the room.

 

"I'm hurt that you've forgotten me." He doesn't look too hurt. Well, not by that, at least. He most definitely looks sickly and dying.

 

There's a hand grabbing at Crowley's. He glances down and finds Aziraphale grasping for him. "They're dead, Crowley." He says, sounding far off. "He killed them. They're dead."

 

Crowley furrows is bow, letting the angel hold his hand and squeeze it tight. "What do you-"

 

"He did this. He's...But you're not...Not really..."

 

"Things have been changing since I was called for the last one. So much can happen in a handful of years.

 

Then it hit Crowley.

 

"You're...Famine?"

 

Last they saw of Mr. Sable, aka Famine, he'd been in quite the opposite situation. A businessman, out of a chair, dark hair trimmed and clipped. Now, either the 21st century had changed the world a lot more than they thought, or they were being thoroughly japed. Granted, neither heaven nor hell have a sense of humour, so the latter seemed a bit far-fetched.

 

The last time they had seen Famine was at Adam and Pepper's wedding. It was impressive how Adam had managed to get three of the four horse-persons to attend (DEATH could not make it, as death is always working, but sent along a lovely present, which is to say, a set of checkers and a blender). Famine had given the couple two signed copies of his book and a lifetime supply deal on his D-Plan Dieting food products. Remarkably, Adam and Pepper had never used them.

 

"What happened to you?"

 

"New apocalypse, new rules."

 

Aziraphale snaps out of his haze at this. "Apocalypse?"

 

"No surprise they kept you two out of the loop. Last time you were trusted with everything, you screwed up didn't you?" A voice says from behind them. Crowley whips around to find himself face to face with another man he doesn't know.

 

"And you?" Crowley is a little bit ticked off right now. Surprises aren't his thing.

 

"Another old friend." The man's appearance flickers and for a moment they see a scarlet haired woman, beautiful and grinning.

 

"War." Aziraphale states like the cold, dangerous fact it is.

 

"Yes indeed, boys. Just stepping in." War passes the two and takes a seat on a table nearby Famine. Crowley takes notice of the bandage wrapped around one of their hands. "Wanted to see you."

 

If anyone is wondering, War gave Adam and Pepper a car that never works in hopes that they'd constantly argue about it. Surprisingly, that never happened.

 

"Nice to see you." Crowley says without any discernable emotion, though he doesn't know if he's been this scared in awhile. Probably not. "Been a few years since the wedding."

 

"Hm, yes, how've you been? Just kidding I don't care." War laughs and their appearance flickers again. Crowley decides he likes the older version of War a lot better than this new guy.

 

"Do you not ride at the end of the world? This isn't riding. This isn't even your job." Aziraphale speaks up, frowning in only the way an angel of the lord can. "This is murder. Murder without cause. That's the job of DEATH, is it not, not yours."

 

"You're onto something there, angel." War smiles and shakes a finger at him. "No, this isn't how we used to run things. But we were pulled onto leashes. Well, no, he is. I'm not." They flicker again. War scoffs. "Well, mostly..."

 

"What do you mean, you're on leashes? Since when have the horseperson's been under anyone's control?"

 

"Since the new order stepped in and started giving people ideas." Famine speaks up. In his silence he's apparently been feeding on the souls around them. Crowley and Aziraphale hardly noticed as they disappeared, but now that they're gone.  "The 21st century has changed things, angel. Everything is new."

 

"Even DEATH." This is a statement, not, a question.

 

"It's Death, right now."

 

Crowley shakes his head in a sort of disbelief. DEATH? Tethered? What was the world coming to?

 

"So what are you doing, then, following orders?"

 

War shrugs. "I lost my leash."

 

"Leash?"

 

"The rings." Famine holds up a shaky hand, showing off the ring given to him by Lucifer.

 

"And mine." War holds up their bandaged hand.

 

Aziraphale and Crowley don't quite know what to do. What is one supposed to do when faced with two horsepersons in the midst of, apparently, the apocalypse when all they were expecting was a nice vacation in the states. Crowley was half tempted to just book it, but he knew the angel wouldn't dare do such a thing, stupid brave streak, and besides, all the demons in the room were making him nervous. They'd been keeping themselves on the down-low these past years, ever since the Apocalypse-The-Wasn't, this wasn't exactly something they planned for. All this attention may draw some unlucky hunters for the Heaven and Hell shitlists.

 

Suddenly, the lights run low.

 

"Looks like I need to go. See you around, maybe, if this ends." War stands and walks out the door without the swagger Aziraphale and Crowley remember them having. They disappear in the rain and soon a red car passes by the doorway, War inside. Crowley can't help but think that he liked the motorcycle better.

 

It's not too soon after that another drives up.

 

"That would be for me. You can leave now. There's nothing you can do to me, nothing I care to do to you." Everyone in the room, par the dead bodies and practically invisible lesser demons, knows that they could cause innumerable amounts of damage on the other two in the room. Not destroy, but maim most definitely.

 

They also know, over centuries and decades of experience, there is really no reason to do this. It solves nothing. So they don't.

 

But if they do not fight, what are they to do? Something is coming, and there's not an exact response to the question 'but what?' So what are they to do?

 

A choice is made for the two.

 

The door does not open, he simply appears. Aziraphale stares at him and just thinks about how small he is. Young, fresh, naive. He can see it in the creature before him. Another angel. Who he is, is another question entirely. It's hard to tell. There's something drifting around him that he can't quite make out, a humanity that doesn't belong there.

 

Then Aziraphale realises this is Famine's influence and wonders how that had managed to happen. Maybe it was the vessel. Aziraphale hadn't had a real one...Well, ever, so what is he to know?

 

Famine doesn't even speak, simply stares at the angel, who twitches. Aziraphale coughs and the younger angel whips around, digging his gaze into the angel and former angel who stand awkwardly off to the side of what is obviously a cluster fuck.

 

This new angel's gaze is emotionless in the way only angels seem to manage. The soulless looks of soldiers of the lord. After thousands of years spent with Aziraphale, a decidedly abnormal angel, he found this look unnerving. It's not like Crowley is convinced Heaven ever forgave him for that whole 'Adam and Eve', thing, which he considers a gift, thank you very much. Seeing one of the true angels of heaven is most surely not a fun time.

 

"Aziraphale?" A gruff voice speaks from the angel's lips, cutting Crowley's focus away from the man's gaze.

 

"...Do I know you, dear?" Aziraphale is now looking at the angel with the kind of look you give a distant relative from that one reunion twenty years ago, or that friend's friend you met once at a party but don't remember because fuck that.

 

"I...I suppose not. However, I do know you. You are Aziraphale, guardian of the Eastern gate of Eden."

 

Aziraphale does not often see other angels at all, so this is new. Of course, he also betrayed Heaven some several years ago, so that was also a good reason for others not to know him, at least he hopes they won't. It's easier to hide when you're a nobody.

 

This angel stares at him, though, and he knows him, Aziraphale can tell.

 

Meanwhile, Crowley is still holding Aziraphale's hand, though his focus is not on the weird family issue in front of him, but Famine, who watches with slight amusement, his demon lackeys apparently expecting a fight.

 

"Who are you?" Aziraphale asks in a quiet voice, almost hesitant. Oh lord, this could ruin him.

 

"I am Castiel."

 

A distant memory sparks in Aziraphale. "Casti...Cassiel?"

 

"That is one of my names, yes."

 

Aziraphale tries to remember this angel, but it's not quite easy. he knew of the Angel of Temperance, Cassiel, only by passing. Being the Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden had always set him apart from the other angels. It was an entirely different tier than Cassiel's, though if he remembered correctly it wasn't easy to see if he was higher or lower than anyone else. Frankly, it was easy enough to say that they had never met before. There was no reason for two angels to meet at most times, let alone from different tiers.

 

Yet just as Aziraphale is going to tell Cassi- Castiel this, the door to the kitchen opens and out runs a human that is also a stranger. 

 

"Cass?" The human seems a bit confused. After all, instead of a fight here was a room full of dead bodies, two foreign strangers, his angel friend, half a dozen demons aaaand what he presumed to be Famine, all having a ...Chat. "What the hell, Cass? Does plan mean nothing to you?"

 

"Oh, right." Castiel suddenly pulls out a knife and runs forward. The human, not being an idiot, lunges to help him only to find himself face to face with too many demons to handle. It's only moments later that the man is thrown against the wall, falling limply to the ground.

 

Famine laughs, simply signaling a demon as he avoids Castiel. A tray of ground beef is thrown onto the ground, catching the sight of the angel.  Aziraphale feels it when it happens. It's almost like a feeling too human overtakes Castiel, pulling him to the meet. The angel is then kneeling on the floor, shoving handfuls of beef into his mouth. It's rather disgusting, to be honest.

 

"So this is true famine. Deeelightful!" Crowley hums with a sarcastic tone that masks his true fear. Did you see that knife? He knows that knife, that fucking knife could hurt him! Where the hell did they get that knife?

 

Aziraphale pretends not to see past Crowley's facade. "Hush, dear." He says, whacking Crowley ineffectually on the arm.

 

Crowley really does admire this, though. He has to say, convincing an angel to give into a sin? That takes real power. Hell, he'd been trying for millenniums with one angel and only almost succeeded one or two times. Granted, his definition of sin and Aziraphale's definition of righteousness were never too far off from each other.

 

This, though, this was definitely sin. In reputable, dastardly gluttony. Immmmpresssssive~

 

"Sssssssoooo...I do believe we should be leaving, angel."

 

"Would that be truly moral?" His answer didn't really matter, though, since Crowley was already dragging him towards the door. "I feel like it isn't.

 

"Not something that would bother me, would it?" The former angel, now demon, mutters sarcastically.

 

"But the human-"

 

"Looks like he can handle himself, I have dinner to eat."

 

"Crowley! He's unconscious!"

 

"There's an angel there."

 

"Crowley!"

 

The demon let them stop at the door, glancing back at Famine who seemed to be thoroughly amused and mostly focusing on waiting for the human to wake up.

 

"Lovely to see you and all that. Wishing you failure in all your apocalyptic endeavors dah dah da, all that. Pip pip, don't come around again, goodbye!" Crowley announces to the diner before shoving a still arguing Aziraphale out the door and leaving the scene behind with hardly any care at all.

 

-

 

They're in a nice bar two cities over.

 

Crowley is content to get blind drunk and wash away all the memories of this day. Then tomorrow when the memories return, he can drink again. A great plan, he thinks. This day was too dramatic for their planned vacation.

 

Aziraphale as well was focusing on getting blind drunk, but it was more out of a grief and confusion than a want for brain bleach. It's not exactly fun for him to see one of his 'siblings' again, especially under awkward circumstances. He never really got along with this 'family', especially after that whole 'disobeyed god and became friends with the creator of sin' thing.

 

Halfway through a second bottle of wine, those newly planted demons reappeared, in the form of one Castiel. At that time Crowley was drunk enough to both hiss so loud a glass broke and feel so apathetic about the event that he was literally considering just getting up and walking away. Not that he would ever do that to Aziraphale...Maybe.

 

"Broth-...Who's this?" Castiel looks curiously at Crowley in, what Crowley interprets as, a rather murdery way.

 

"Calm down, darling, I would never let him hurt you." Aziraphale hushes without a thought, looking at Crowley in a slightly scolding manner, as if this was a very obvious fact. Give him some credit.

 

"Who. Is. This?" Castiel repeats. Aziraphale gives him a stern look as well.

 

"Do not use that tone of voice with me. I may be an outcast of the Garrison, but you are still a fledgling to me, Cassiel."

 

It's hard to tell, but Crowley thinks stick-up-his-ass shrinks a little at Aziraphale's words, and he finds an innumerable amount of enjoyment in this.

 

"If you must know, this is Crowley."

 

Castiel narrows his eyes in confusion. "...No he's not." He states as if it is obvious Aziraphale is lying.

 

"Um...Yesssss, I am?"  After that exchange, all of Crowley's fear of this small angel had dissipated. Now he was fine with being the sarcastic asshole that he is. "Unless some other chump has been walking around with the same name as me. Which would be purely stupid in all respects."

 

"...I'm positive you're not Crowley. I've met Crowley. You are not him. " Granted, this imposter did have the same annoying attitude, and a similar accent as the real Crowley, but there was no way this...Thing was actually the Crowley. after all, they looked nothing alike, soul-wise and appearance-wise.

 

Crowley was more annoyed than offended. You work so hard (meaning not at all) to create the original sin, and only a millennia or so alter no one even recognizes you. Talk about one hit wonder.

 

"Look, Mr. Virgin Trainwreck of God, I am too drunk, too bored, and too done with today to deal with your dead pan attitude. Ssssso just pisssssss off and let usssssss drink ourselvesssss into a sssstupor in peace." The former Serpent of Eden hisses with a significant amount of done.

 

"Darling, you're hissing again." Aziraphale points out without even really thinking about it. Casual. Kind of...Domestic. Castiel takes notice and is...Confused?

 

"Oh sssodd off, Angel." Crowley attempts to drown himself in wine again, only to find that the gratification of wrath, gluttony, and sloth was all being wiped way by the servant of Heaven staring at the two like they'd just driven down the highway in a car almost entirely made of fire and pure willpower.

 

...

 

Anyways, Crowley glared in only the way Crowley can, yanking down his sunglasses and inch to glare properly at Castiel. "What part of pissssss off is confussssing?"

 

"..." Castiel is still confused. OH well, best to handle things bluntly. "Are you two procreating?"

 

Aziraphale, for his credit, only manages to blush an awful lot instead of just setting himself on fire with the sheer embarrassment of the question. Crowley let's his eyes widen for moment in surprise before he positively smirks with satisfaction, leaning forward across the table on his hand so he an flutter his eyelashes at his friend.

 

"Hmmm, yessss, aren't we angel~?" He hisses with more purr than pure hiss, sticking his long, thin tongue out at the angel in a positively provocative way. Might as well not enjoy provoking love while he's already having a disappointing day. Besides, the look on Aziraphale's face is just too perfect.

 

The former Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden, now Part-Time Rare-Bookseller manages to pull together his dignity enough to shoot an embarrassed glare at Crowley, then an awkward look at Castiel. "Don't tell him that! We're not in any sort of illicit relationship, I swear!" The last comment is directed towards Castiel, who still manages to look confused.

 

He merely waits two blinks before saying, "I'll return when you're in...Better company." Then suddenly disappearing.

 

Aziraphale watches the spot where his "brother" once was. Crowley takes great joy in gulping down more wine, watching Aziraphale manage to look even more flustered and embarrassed.

 

"It's supposed to be our vacation..." Aziraphale mutters.

 

Crowley laughs. "It is. That's why we're getting drunk." He pushes a full bottle forward, tapping on it. "Drink up, Angel. We can pretend Americans don't exist."

 

So they drink. They drink without question from the wait staff or the bartender or even the patrons around them (either divine or hellish intervention, though which one is not clear). They finish off too much wine and stagger out of the bar muttering about ducks, ineffability, and the same stupid thing about the Sound of Music they discuss every time they get absolutely pissed.

 

Over all, it was an okay Thursday.

**Author's Note:**

> I can never decide what is the right balance between wicked and cowardly for Crowley...


End file.
